The Sound of White
by ghostofanother
Summary: When the world is quiet, and I'm alone, I can still hear you laugh in the sound of white...AU, Futurefic, OFC POV


Title: The Sound of White  
Rating: PG (maybe...)  
Pairing: sort of Sam/OFC  
Summary: When the world is quiet and I'm alone, I can still hear you laugh in the sound of white...  
A/N: The title for this story (as well as the initial idea) comes from a song by Missy Higgins, one of the greatest singer/songwriters today that no one knows...though I am severely addicted to Dean, I just felt this worked better for Sam, so that's what I wrote...mind you, Sam doesn't even get to talk...but Dean does :)  
---------------------------

Sometimes, at night, when she was alone in her bedroom, she could still hear his voice. The soft, slow hum of each word soothing her to sleep. His laughter, jovial and contagious, ringing in the imposing darkness. If she closed her eyes, she could swear that he was right there with her, lying next to her in bed, the heat from his long, lithe body radiating into hers, frigid and clammy.

Morning, she would wake to the sunlight coming into their bedroom, alone once again by the light of day. Part of her still hated him for leaving her like that. He knew she hated being alone, not to mention with a little boy who would never know his father.

Getting little Sammy up in the morning was always a chore, just like getting his father to do...well, anything. Her son looked more and more like his father everyday, a walking shadow of the man she'd given her life to. At only three years old, he'd already inherited his daddy's dark hair and stormy gray eyes. Sam would be proud to see his son growing taller and stronger by the day.

She watches her little boy play in their backyard by himself, sitting on the deck, toying with her wedding ring absently. She could still remember the day her brother-in-law had called. She knew there was something wrong right away. Dean's voice was rough and weak and...sad. She could hear the tears in his tone.

"Dean, what's wrong?" She tried so hard to be strong, for her son, for the hope that her husband was still safe in his brother's care. She hoped against hope that nothing had happened.

"It's Sam. He...he," and then, Dean's voice broke, tears so obviously flowing down flushed golden cheeks. She could see it in her mind's eye.

"Dean, tell me he's okay," she pleaded, doing her best to hold the tears in. Her son was five feet away, and the last thing she wanted to do was worry an 18 month old.

"I'm so sorry," Dean whispered. And then his voice was gone, his breath was gone, leaving her with nothing but dial tone.

The handset fell from her hand in a loud crash, causing the baby to cry. Mechanically, she moved to pick him up off the living room floor, cradling him in her arms as though he was all she had left. She knew that she should not have let him leave this time.

It had been almost as painful to watch Dean's demise as hearing of Sam's. Her love had been so badly mauled that they'd had to hold a closed casket ceremony. She didn't want little Sammy seeing that anyhow. As soon as that rainy day they'd held the funeral, Dean was already nothing but a shell of himself. It wasn't fair. He had the luxury of dwelling on his loss, his pain. She had to move on. 

Two months later, she'd had to take the job at the luggage factory just outside of town. It was hard work, but she had to give her baby boy the life that she and Sam had always dreamed of. Fortunately, the neighbors would watch the baby while she worked. Dean was rarely around. He'd visit every now and again, but not often enough for his nephew to even recognize him. 

He even stopped working, stopped traveling. He felt like a failure - that much he'd told her one night in a round of drunken confessions. He'd lost the one person he'd vowed his whole life to protect, and that meant that he wasn't good at his job. Anymore, Dean was prisoner of his own grief, spending day after day in the apartment he rented in California. 

John Winchester had buried himself in his work after the death of his youngest son. He'd all but forgotten Dean, completely detaching himself from any sort of family, fearing the pain of loss. He hadn't seen his only grandson since the funeral.

"Damn you, Samuel Winchester," she breathed to herself, watching her son play, blissfully ignorant to all the pain and horror that surrounded his young life. "Leaving him no one but me. You should have been stronger." It was like a quiet prayer, sent up to his spirit.

Little Sammy laughed again, loud and boisterous, just like his father's. She shivered, the memory having never faded. She could feel him there with them, watching over them.

"I know you're here," she spoke to the sky, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I want you to know that he's got me. And I'll do for him exactly what I would have done for you - everything."

------------------------------------

Okay, not my best work, but for being written in such a short time, it's not so bad!


End file.
